


Anna Karenina and Other Cheerful Fiction

by krabapple



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 21:53:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krabapple/pseuds/krabapple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is angry with Remus, and holding back, but not for the reasons Remus thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anna Karenina and Other Cheerful Fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Set during OotP.
> 
> Written 2004.

Remus J. Lupin had always thought he was a patient man. He had sorted through the various prejudices and brutal bigotry that came with being a werewolf for his entire lifetime. He had held all different manner of jobs, including those which forced him to be polite to extremely rude people, like those who were ordering their dinner and refused to accept the fact that the kitchen was simply out of lamb. Most of all, he had spent a year teaching hundreds of mini-wizards and witches at Hogwarts, which, aside from the usual woes of teaching, had the added bonuses of a smug Draco Malfoy and a snide Severus Snape.

Remus thought he was a patient man, until he came to 12 Grimmauld Place and was faced with the daily prospect of one angry, fractured, ill-tempered Sirius Black.

Remus reckoned he would go mad inside of a fortnight.

The fact is, he might have done just that, if it hadn't been that the Weasley family had practically moved in over the summer, along with Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. Remus was glad, grateful for the distraction from what Sirius was, from what he would have to face later. He was content, if a bit guilty, to let Molly take the brunt of Sirius' temper; Remus had been on the receiving end of it enough times to recognize that Sirius was one who lashed out quickly, in anger, and more deadly than he gave himself credit for. Fortunately for Remus, Molly was more than equal to the task of managing, even mothering, Sirius, the cracks in her reserve showing only when she was worried about her own family.

That was the truth of the situation, for Remus. Molly had her own family, a husband and children, to be anxious over. Sirius had no one but Remus and Harry, and Remus would push no more responsibility onto Harry's shoulders. In the end, the person who would ultimately shape the man Sirius would be post-Azkaban was Remus, and he could not be more terrified about it if he tried.

The fact that Sirius diligently remained distant and angry with him did nothing to make matters easier. September came all too soon, leaving Grimmauld Place in loud, echoing silence, and Remus alone.

______________

 

Breakfast was often a dodgy affair. Remus' meager bachelor skills meant that he was pretty good at burning toast, and that was about as far as he ever got. He could steep a pot of tea, and often did only that, surviving on English Breakfast until the sandwiches of lunch. Sirius had always had a ravenous appetite in the morning; Remus well remembered the Sirius that piled his plate full at Hogwarts. After Molly had mostly retired to the Burrow, Remus even took a crack at coaxing Kretcher into fixing meals for them, but the house elf would have none of it, especially as Remus was only a piddling half-breed, and most certainly not his master. Not that Sirius would come within ten feet of the creature voluntarily, so Remus knew that Sirius talking to Kreacher about meals was beyond the scope of his reality. That in mind, he took to stocking the cooling shelves with fresh fruit and milk and the pantry with dried cereal.

Remus came down to the kitchen one morning in September to find Sirius slicing a banana into some cereal.

He took Sirius' low half-growl, half-grunt for a greeting and said, "Good morning," himself. Sirius nodded in return and tucked into his cereal. Remus tapped his wand against the kettle and took a handful of tea bags out of the cupboard. It looked to be a multiple cup morning for him, and Remus hated reusing tea bags if he could help it; there was just something about a fresh tea bag that appealed to him, rather than its already soggy, half-used counterpart. He carefully placed a tea bag into a mug and poured the hot water over it, watching as the tea bag slowly puffed up under the hot water and floated lazily to the surface. He took the mug over to the table and sat opposite Sirius.

"You really should eat something," Sirius said.

Remus waved his hand over the mug. "I'm fine. Is that concern I hear, Sirius?" Remus had meant the comment to be light, teasing. Years ago it would have been so, but like everything between them now, the words fell flat and leaden onto the table between them.

Sirius raised an eyebrow and went back to his cereal.

Remus sighed inwardly; silence from Sirius always meant worse things than hearing his voice form around sharp words. He waited for a while, giving Sirius time. Then, quietly, but not without purpose, "The full moon is in four days."

Sirius looked up again, his eyebrows back in their normal places. "Oh?"

Remus smothered his irritation quickly. "Yes. I was thinking I could go back to my cottage, but that would mean leaving here tomorrow, tomorrow night at the latest." Remus' cottage had a concrete basement and a spelled door, and it was where he had spent every full moon since leaving his teaching position at Hogwarts. Except that now, it would mean leaving Sirius virtually alone until his return, unless pressing business with the Order came up. They had met only yesterday, and everyone was mostly out on assignment, or going about their regular business. Remus was only slightly keener on going to his cottage than he was of just taking his chances with the Wolfsbane and staying at Grimmauld Place, curled up on the floor of his room there. Unless, of course . . .

"Or . . ." Remus started.

"Or what?" Sirius grated into the space left when Remus had started to trail off.

He's going to make me say it. Of course he's going to make me say it. Bastard. Remus Lupin, however, was no longer fifteen years old, so he sucked it up and did what he came to the table to do. "Or, I could stay here. I'm sure there's a room here that we could prepare, especially if you turned and stayed with me as Padfoot." There.

Sirius seemed to consider this, though Remus knew him better than to believe the disguise of thoughtfulness. Sirius had seen this twist in the conversation coming from a meter away, and was ready for it, Remus was sure. Twelve years in Azkaban had not blunted Sirius' mind, or his tongue.

"Do you think it would be safe here?" Sirius finally asked.

"I think so. The potion is very helpful. And Padfoot would be here." Remus said no more. He and Sirius both knew that Remus rarely approved of Sirius becoming Padfoot since they had come to Grimmauld Place. Remus was of the mind that Sirius had spent entirely too much time the last two years as the big, black dog, indeed too much time the last fourteen years as Padfoot, and Remus had fought hard to keep Sirius in human form for as much as possible. Sirius could not overcome what he could not face. Padfoot had become too much of a comfort. This time, Remus was asking Padfoot to comfort him.

Sirius finished his cereal and abruptly stood up. He turned and dropped his bowl and spoon into the sink with a clatter. "Do what you like, Remus," he shrugged, and walked out of the room. Remus could hear him on the stairs while he sat and finished his tea.

____________

In the end, Remus went to spend the full moon at the cottage, not sure if he could have counted on Padfoot or not.

____________

 

Remus looked up suddenly from the papers he'd scattered on the desk to find Molly Weasley standing in front of him with a tray.

"Lunch, Remus," she said simply, eyes scanning the desk for an empty spot where she could put the tray. There was none, so Remus scooped some parchments on the corner into a makeshift pile. Molly put the tray down and scooted a chair over with her wand and a quick spell so she could sit. Remus groaned a little inwardly; if Molly was sitting down, that meant she intended to stay and talk. He liked Molly, but wasn't sure he would like what she had to say.

"You'll join me, won't you, Molly?" Remus asked politely, pouring some tea and picking up a sandwich. Ham and swiss, basic Weasley fare.

"No, dear, but thank you. I've eaten already downstairs. Arthur and I were speaking to Moody about some Order business."

"Then you didn't have to do this, Molly. I would have come down for some food eventually."

Molly waved her hand dismissively. "Not at all, Remus. It was no trouble. We both know you probably didn't have any breakfast."

Remus nodded and continued eating. He was sure that Molly would come to her point eventually; she always did. Molly Weasley was a lot more formidable than her roles of wife and mother sometimes made her out to be. He listened to the desk clock tick as he ate and waited.

"He's upstairs, feeding Buckbeak," Molly said, reaching over the tray and pouring herself a cup of tea.

Remus respected Molly too much to pretend he didn't know whom she was referring to. She meant Sirius, of course, who was spending a great deal of time with Buckbeak, and who was responsible for the creature's care. Not that Remus minded; he appreciated the fact that Sirius had a least one living being he could talk to. Besides which, feeding Buckbeak was a nasty job, full of dead rats, and not one that Remus wanted, though there was a vicarious thrill to be had in pretending those rats were Peter Pettigrew. If only Wormtail really was being devoured by the hippogriff even as they spoke.

"A job he's quite competent at, Molly," Remus replied.

"Yes." Molly said no more until Remus had finished his third sandwich and poured a second cup of tea. "It's not him I'm concerned with, Remus."

Ah-ha. "There's no reason to be concerned about me, Molly."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes. I've been taking care of myself for quite a few years now; I may not be perfect at it, but I get by."

"How long has it been since you've done more than 'get by', Remus?" Molly asked, rather pointedly.

He knew Molly was shrewder than many gave her credit for, and Remus cursed mentally. He looked into his tea cup as if it held all the answers. Nothing but tea there, though. He considered what to say. Not since October of 1981 seemed too much, and far too close to the truth, to share with Molly, no matter how much he liked and respected her. He decided to go with reassurance instead of answering the question directly, but he couldn't stop himself from sighing audibly before he did so.

"Molly. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. Better than I have been in years, in fact." Remus hadn't known he was going to say that. He considered it, briefly, and realized it was the truth. Well now, that was just sad.

"If this is what you consider fine, Remus . . ."

He started to overlap her voice, "Molly." The word had a bit of warning in it, and Remus saw from the sudden flash in Molly's eyes that she had noted it.

"It's just that . . . you're busy taking care of him, but who's taking care of you?" Molly reached over and touched the back of his hand lightly.

"I don't need taking care of," Remus answered.

Molly snorted at that. "Oh, Remus." She looked like she might actually laugh but then composed herself quickly.

Remus, a little flustered at Molly's sudden amusement, said nothing in return. They sat in silence for another moment or two as Remus continued to carefully sip his tea.

"Maybe the two of you should be taking care of each other," Molly finally offered, a hint of a smile still around her lips. Remus boggled a little and put his mug down, afraid that he would drop it if he was right in his understanding of her.

Molly held up a hand to forestall any sputtering reaction he might have been able to come up with. "I know I'm wading into very personal territory with this, Remus . . ."

That was an understatement.

" . . . but I think you two would be good for each other."

Remus blinked and shook his head a little. "Molly, are you suggesting that I become, er, involved, with Sirius Black?"

"Well. I think that would be re-involved, wouldn't it, Remus?"

His face must have taken on comedic proportions, judging from Molly's burst of laughter.

"Oh, Remus. We all knew what you and Sirius were to each other. You weren't exactly quiet about it, you know."

Remus reflected that it wasn't like Sirius to be quiet about anything, especially not fifteen years ago. Fifteen years ago. He finally ventured a response to Molly. "Even so. It's been a long time, Molly. Too much has happened since then." He sighed again.

"That's about excuses, Remus. Not about how you feel," Molly replied.

About how he felt. Remus knew all too well how he felt. He felt . . . angry. Furious. Even if he wanted to reach out between them, Sirius was staying resolutely, and Remus thought purposely, out of reach. He let some of his resentment seep into his posture as he talked to Molly. "Sometimes it's not about how you feel."

Molly finished her tea and put it down. "No. It's always about how you feel. Even if you don't necessarily like it. Even if it scares you."

Even two years ago, when he had seen Sirius for the first time again, even gaunt and full of rage as he was; when he had pulled him briefly into his arms again, and felt that heart beating against his chest, Remus might have agreed with her.

But not today. "Thank you for the lunch, Molly. It was very considerate of you, and I appreciate it."

Molly knew when she was being dismissed, and stood up, touching the back of his hand again, just for a second. "You're welcome."

Remus went back to his papers, and to hunting Peter Pettigrew, as she left the room.

______________

 

That was Remus' main job with the Order: hunting Peter Pettigrew. So far, it was a mostly futile exercise. It was necessary, though, and Remus had volunteered for the duty, knowing that it was slightly dangerous that he do so. Not dangerous in the meaning that he might be killed; that just went with Order territory. No, Peter was dangerous for Remus because catching him, stopping him, was personal for Remus; Remus was not above the fact that there was a part of him that wanted revenge, that wanted Peter to pay for what he had done to them all, to James and Lily, Remus and Sirius, and Harry. In a not so deep part of himself, Remus was human enough to want Peter to suffer and to be the one to cause that suffering. Peter Pettigrew could mean a slippery slope for Remus, but he didn't care.

So Remus spent most of his days, and quite a few of his nights, attempting to track Peter. It was a sticky business; Peter was just as smart in escaping detection as Remus would have anticipated. He also had the current protection of Voldemort, and few would speak of either the dark lord or his lackey. Remus was left to go on old news; gossip and innuendo and rumors, on reading between the lines of newspapers and tabloids. But Remus did so with a sharp determination that never wavered, and he knew that if there was one thing Peter would always break down under, it was close scrutiny.

Today, he had followed a brief notation in the Quibbler to a remote location in rural India. He had apperated in the morning, and spent his day in a small wizarding village, interviewing locals. The result was what it almost always was: nothing. Another tip dried up, another lead that went to nowhere, and Remus went back to Grimmauld Place that night tired, dirty, and more than a little discouraged.

He wanted to eat even before he wanted to bathe, and he found Sirius sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee; the fire was burning brightly and there was a full pot of chicken and dumplings on the stove. Remus' stomach grumbled as he spooned the stew into a bowl.

"Waiting up for me?" he asked Sirius as he fished in the drawer for a spoon.

"Don't I always?" Sirius asked, sounding just a little amused and just a little aggravated.

Years go, his answer would have been a yes and a quick kiss hello, but now Remus dropped onto the bench across from Sirius and started eating, shrugging his shoulders. Sirius watched him, but didn't say anything.

After a while, Sirius' constant regard became a little grating. Remus shifted slightly on the bench and finally gave up. "What?" he asked.

"You haven't told me about your day yet," Sirius replied.

Remus shrugged. "It was a day. One more lead that didn't mean anything at all."

"You really are a master storyteller, you know."

"What do you want me to say? It was India. Hotter than I thought. Language barrier. No Voldemort, no Peter."

Sirius huffed. "No doubt your report for the Order will be more enlightening."

Remus dropped his spoon and rubbed his forehead. "Sirius. Look. Normally I'd be more than willing to indulge you in your petulant child routine, but I've had a long day and I'm tired. Maybe tomorrow? I'll pencil it between reading the local Canadian wizarding newspaper and interrogating a book club of witches in Yorkshire." He watched as Sirius rocked back in his chair, though from surprise or anger, he couldn't tell. Sirius Black speechless; he never thought he'd see the day. Then Sirius' face closed up, and he wished he hadn't.

"I'm not the one being a petulant child," Sirius finally said. He voice was low and his words perfectly clipped.

"I'm not going to argue the point with you."

"I just think that, if you are determined to go after a man who hates you, who is now in possession of a huge silver hand, you might want to talk about it a little bit. That's all."

"Concerned, Sirius?" Remus knew he was fraying at the edges, could feel himself unraveling.

"Yes."

"About me, or about yourself? Do you want the story because you're interested in me, or because you're tired of being shut up here?" Something inside came undone.

Sirius opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again. "If that's the way you want to be, fine." He paused. "Not that you'll need anything, but I'm going upstairs. I owe Harry an owl."

"Good. I'm sure he understands you perfectly, one surly and sullen young man to another." If he thought he hadn't pushed Sirius too far, he was soon corrected. Sirius stood up, slammed his chair towards the table so hard that the entire table shook, and swirled out of the room.

Remus finished eating, collected his bowl and Sirius' coffee mug, and washed them both before heading towards his set of rooms.

______________

 

It was almost three in the morning, and Remus still had yet to sleep. He was tired, of course, as he'd said to Sirius earlier. Too tired, almost, even to lie down and close his eyes. Now, hours later, after a long, hot shower, Remus was tossing and turning under the bed clothes. Part of what was keeping him awake was guilt, he knew. Deserved or not, what he had said to Sirius was too much, especially with regard to Harry, and he knew it. But it was done, and there was nothing he could do about it, not tonight at least.

What he wanted to do about it was the other part keeping him awake. He overwhelmingly wanted to be physical with Sirius; Sirius had always been kinetic, tactile, as fluent with his body as with his words. They had often resolved the issues between them with action, from wrestling as school boys to making out as adults. Remus wasn't sure if he wanted to pound Sirius into a bloody pulp or fuck him into a mattress, this time. The reality was quite possibly that he wanted to do both, and even the thought of the latter had left him flushed and half-hard.

Sighing into the inevitable, Remus snaked his hand down underneath the sheets to cup himself through his pajama pants. It had been so long . . . he wasn't even sure he'd know Sirius anymore, know what he liked, what he didn't. They hadn't even touched since that night in the Shrieking Shack, not a gentle brush of hands, not a pat on the back, nothing. It made Remus feel . . . completely unwanted.

He sighed again. This was getting him nowhere. This time he slipped his hand inside his pants, and ran a finger along himself, from base to tip. Happy . . . happy . . . a happy memory, he thought as he gently made a fist. He smiled. The night of James and Lily's wedding.

They had gone back to their flat late, among the last of the revelers to stay at the party long after the happy couple had left to start their brief honeymoon. Sirius had been flushed, full of happiness for James, reeling from giddiness at the world. Remus had been happy, too, in his own way, joyous for James and content in his own life, for once. He and Sirius had necked like the teenagers they almost still were at the end of the reception, and they both laughed breathlessly when they managed to apperate to their flat without splinching themselves.

Remus closed his eyes and stroked. Sirius had tasted of wedding cake and champagne, and a little bit of chocolate. The groom's cake had been chocolate, Remus remembered. Sirius had been almost as bubbly as the champagne, his laughter blowing short, hot breaths onto Remus' neck as Sirius had kissed his way down his throat. Remus moaned in remembrance, at the way Sirius had tongued his collarbone.

He picked up his pace a little, his hand gripping as tightly as possible. They had undressed each other all the way to the bedroom, so that by the time they got there, Sirius was standing next to the bed, completely undressed and aroused. Remus had been unable to contain a growl at the sight of him then, and he couldn't now at the memory, though now he keened lower, more softly, more desperately. They had wrestled onto the bed, fought briefly for dominance until Remus had won, and Sirius had let him.

And then all Remus could remember was the smell of Sirius, mixed with sweat and alcohol, the way his back had arched off the bed slightly as Remus slid into him, the way Sirius had fought to keep his eyes open the entire time; they had picked this position, face-to-face, so they could see each other, and Sirius had taken the thought to heart. Remus could still picture his face, flushed with exertion, not embarrassment. His eyes were open, round, pupils dilated so much that the gray irises around them were small, and deeply darker than they should be. But his eyes didn't close, not ever, not when he came, not when Remus quickly followed inside of him, and the light in them, oh, the light in them . . .

Remus' mouth opened and his toes curled a split second before he spilled himself over his belly and his hand. He lay there for handful of heartbeats, mouth open, eyes closed, breathing harsh in the darkness. Eventually, with his free hand, he took his wand from the table and recited a cleaning spell. When that was done he turned onto his side, breathing deeply still, and closed his eyes, seeking the peace of sleep.

_______________

 

He found Sirius two days later in the library, which was not a surprise as Sirius was often there, even more often than he was in Buckbeak's room. Sirius had been spending long bouts of his time deep into classic literature, long, epic stories, books that were thicker than most people's heads. He had been involved with sprawling novels, with Dickens and Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Remus was as much concerned with Sirius' reading choices as he was pleased with them. Dickens was as much a treatise on abandonment complexes as it was anything else, and as for the Russians . . . well, as soon as he had seen Sirius with The Brothers Karamazov, Remus had quietly but thoroughly searched the house and nicked all the copies of Crime and Punishment he could find, which, as this was the Black estate, came to a grand total of eight different editions. He had considered, earlier, suggesting Sirius try to find something a little more . . . cheerful, but had been stymied himself trying to come up with any literature that might be appropriate. The only thing he could remember were Shakespeare's comedies and Jane Austen, and he wasn't sure how well that would go over with Sirius; he just didn't seem like the Pride and Prejudice type, even if, as one of Remus' professors had once said, Elizabeth Bennet was the last whole person to appear in Western literature, and that Sirius could badly use the example.

Maybe he should suggest the Shakespeare.

This day, Sirius was sitting in a window seat near the back of the room. He had Anna Karenina on his lap, held open with both hands. He didn't look up as Remus approached and stood in front of him.

Just as Remus was about to clear his throat, Sirius said, not looking up from his book, "If you're here because you want to apologize, Remus, don't."

"Don't what--apologize or be here?"

"I was thinking apologize, but either one works."

The conversation seemed to rapidly be unspooling from Remus' perspective. Remus was still standing over a sitting Sirius, looking down at him. Remus gave into the little piece of the animals inside of them and sat down on the floor, crossing his legs, wanting instinctively to show Sirius that he was not a threat to him.

"You're not going away."

"No."

"You're not going to go away." It was a statement, not a question.

"No."

Sirius finally looked at Remus, but didn't close his book. Silence stretched out between them.

Finally Remus said, "How's Harry?"

Sirius' gaze narrowed dangerously and Remus tilted back a little, surprised; he thought Harry was solid neutral territory.

"Why would you care how Harry is?"

Remus frowned, thinking a bit. Of course he cared how Harry was. Harry was James and Lily's son, Remus' former student. He remembered evenings where they would laugh at James' attempts to feed a toddler Harry; he remembered being exceptionally proud when Harry had learned the patronus charm. He cared deeply about the boy, and was worried for him, all of which should have been patently obvious even to Sirius.

"Of course I care about how Harry is. He's . . . well . . . Harry," Remus finished rather lamely. No wonder he could think of no more cheerful fiction.

"You have a peculiar way of showing it, Remus," Sirius snapped, his cheekbones flushing with dark spots of anger.

Feeling completely and suddenly out of his league, Remus asked, "What? What is that supposed to mean?"

"You're the one who abandoned the boy for more or less the last fourteen years," Sirius bit out, fingers clutching the novel so hard that his knuckles were almost white.

It was on the tip of Remus' tongue to say Are you sure we're talking about Harry here and not you? when the truth of it crashed in on him like a cresting ocean wave : Sirius really did mean Harry. Sirius could forgive him for believing him a murderer, a traitor, but not for not looking after Harry? Remus wondered, not idly, how long this had been brewing beneath Sirius' opaque surface.

"Sirius, I . . ." he began, groping for words. He must have fumbled around for his vocabulary for too long because Sirius interrupted--

"He was James' son, for Merlin's sake. You were all he had left!"

"That's right, Sirius. I was the only one."

"Yes!"

"Yes, Sirius! James and Lily dead. You in Azkaban--for betraying us all. Harry should have been dead, too, and I . . ."

"You?"

"I, I wished that I was. Dead, I mean."

That brought Sirius up short, at least for a moment. "Remus . . ."

"No. No. You weren't there. You don't understand," he bit out, angrily, hands clenching into fists. How much of this had been lurking beneath his surface, too? "My whole life . . . all our lives . . . just--gone. People were celebrating, and I had nothing. Harry had gone to live with those Muggles, Dumbledore insisted."

"Blood protection," Sirius muttered disdainfully.

"Yes, Sirius. And I . . . I was nothing to them, to him. Don't you understand? I was nothing. Not a friend of the family. Not a godfather. Nothing."

"Stop saying that!"

"It's true!"

"No, it isn't. Remus! You could have . . ."

"Done what, Sirius? Owled him? Sent him letters? Bought a house near him, lived as a Muggle, stalked the boy?"

"Yes!"

"No, Sirius. No. He needed to be safe . . . needed for me to let go."

"He needed to be safe or you needed to be safe?" The scorn and fury in Sirius' voice cut like a whip.

"I don't know, Sirius. I don't know. Mostly him." Remus said this softly, suddenly bone weary.

"Harry should have come first." Sirius refused to back down. Remus wasn't much surprised.

"I did what I could. I. I . . . did the best I could."

"Maybe that isn't good enough."

"Maybe not. Maybe it wasn't. But that's all there was . . . all there is. You don't know what it was like. You don't know. You don't know, Sirius."

"And that would be my fault."

"Yes," Remus said simply.

Sirius said nothing, just gaped a little, his mouth open.

Remus tried again, gathering words to him like a shield in a storm. Sirius, as usual, got there first.

"I didn't get sent to Azkaban on purpose; goddamn it, Remus!" anger boiling over again.

"No, but you did go after Peter, didn't you? Had to rush off without thinking, like you always did . . ."

"Who's going after Peter now?" Sirius struck out, and hit a solid blow.

"It's not the same thing," Remus attempted to point out.

"Why? Because you have Dumbledore's permission?"

"No. Because it isn't, and you know it."

Sirius looked unconvinced, and Remus wasn't so sure he wasn't unconvinced himself. There was a pause before Sirius spoke again.

"Even at Hogwarts, you were distant. You didn't tell him who you were." Remus heard the accusation renewed in Sirius' voice.

"At Hogwarts, there were other considerations. I was a teacher; I couldn't have an inappropriate relationship with a student."

"For Merlin's sake, Remus! It's not like you wanted to fuck the boy!"

Remus flushed at the thought, wretched and embarrassed.

"You didn't, did you?" Sirius pulled back, prepared to be horrified.

"Good God, no, Sirius! But I couldn't very well play favorites, could I? Not with half the faculty doubting my ability anyway, and with Snape breathing down my neck every time I turned around. And even if I could have played favorites, I wouldn't have wanted to."

Sirius was silent, not having a reply available. Remus tried a different tack.

"Do you know what shape Harry's corporal patronus takes?"

Sirius swallowed at what seemed like the change in subject, but he answered readily enough. "A stag."

"Not just any stag, Prongs, Sirius."

"Yeah."

"Did Harry tell you what happened in the graveyard when Voldemort found tangible form again?"

Sirius frowned. "Bits and pieces. Probably as much as he's told anyone."

"Do you know whose advice Harry counted on? To help him? To save him?"

Remus saw Sirius' throat clench and close up. "James'. When he appeared from Voldemort's wand," Sirius finally managed.

"Yes." Remus waited for a moment, desperately wanting to touch Sirius, put his fingers on his arm, or lean his head upon his knee, but he didn't. Instead he said, "Those things, they're . . . they're all Harry has of James. What he knows, what is inside of him. James' . . . emotional residue. Remarkably, it is James that Harry looks to, to guide him, to protect him. Still. Even now. I. I won't take that from Harry. I won't. I don't want his patronus to be a werewolf, or a dog. Not even for you. We, you and I, we aren't James. We shouldn't want to be.”

Sirius looked down at Remus. "I don't want to be James, Remus." He said it with some ire, but softly, with blunt edges. "It's just . . . in Azkaban. The only thing I had was that I was innocent. And that Harry would need me one day. That's the only reason I was able to keep myself me . . . to make an escape, and not just the escape I made out of the prision, either."

"I know. And I'm not saying that Harry doesn't need you, or even me. But he needs you to be you, Sirius, not his father. Harry deserves to have what little he has left of his father. Of James."

"If we're not James, then who are we?" Sirius asked.

"We. Well . . . we're . . . Moony and Padfoot," Remus answered, knowing that it was right. Sirius didn't say anything, but he did smile a genuine smile, though it was a small one.

"Are you sure it's not, 'We were Moony and Padfoot?'"

Remus looked up quickly, and wanted to back away from what he got a brief glimpse of in Sirius' eyes. "I was sure once," he said, almost whispering, looking back down. To Remus' utter surprise, Sirius laid a hand on top of his head.

"I was, too," Sirius answered, stroking his fingers lightly through a bit of Remus' hair.

Remus leaned his forehead against Sirius' knee, and inhaled.

____________

 

Almost a week later, Remus apperated back into his bedroom. He had spent the day attempting to track Peter through New York City. As it was rumored the rat population outnumbered the human population there, he shouldn't have been surprised that, at the end of the day, he was no closer to finding Peter than he had been in the morning. It had been snowing when he left England, and it snowing still, thick, heavy flakes drifting down onto London.

He was emptying his pockets onto the dresser when Sirius appeared in his doorway, dressed in a white Oxford and jeans, Anna Karenina still in his hands.

"What did you bring me?" Sirius asked, a light, teasing note in his voice. Remus was so grateful to hear the levity that he smiled a little as he continued to fish out the back pocket of his trousers.

"Metrocard?" Remus offered, holding up the little piece of plastic.

"What?"

"Er . . . ticket to the Muggle underground in New York City."

"That's nice, Remus, but do I look like Arthur Weasley to you?" Sirius came into the room and sat down on the trunk Remus kept at the foot of the bed.

Remus barked out a little laugh. "Touche." He put the Metrocard down near the little basket that held is spare change; he would have to remember to show it to Arthur later.

Sirius moved over on the trunk to make more room for Remus, who sat down next to him.

"I take it you were unsuccessful in finding Peter today?" The tilt at the end of Sirius' voice made it a question.

"Hmmm. No Peter, just some rat-happy wizards down in the East Village. It was all quite disgusting, actually. Remind me to tell Dumbledore to keep an eye on that Giuliani fellow, the Muggle mayor. Something about him I don't like."

"Okay."

"How were things here?"

"Quiet. You were out. Moody came by to drop off some papers; Molly came to check in on me and leave some food. You do know she thinks we're not capable of feeding ourselves?"

"I rather think it's me she feels is incapable of making food, not you."

"In any case. There's shepard's pie downstairs if you want it."

"In a minute." Remus nodded toward the book in Sirius' hands. "I thought you would have been done with that by now."

Sirius waved the book towards Remus, a finger holding his place inside. "Reading it in bits and pieces, mostly. Almost there."

"Is it not holding your attention?" Sirius rarely did anything in bits and pieces.

"I wouldn't say that. Savoring it, really."

Remus nodded. He understood that impulse well, what makes you want to take a book slowly, ingesting it like a delicacy. He wondered when Sirius had learned it. "You like Tolstoy?"

"I like the passion in it."

Ah. That sounded more like the Sirius Remus once knew. "I'm not sure Tolstoy liked the passion all that much."

"No?"

"He does throw poor Anna under a train for it at the end, you know." Remus watched as Sirius' eyes grew a little larger, and he panicked for a moment, wondering if he had given away the ending. Then his memories caught up to him, and he recalled hearing Sirius talk endlessly about the novel when he had to read it in Muggle Studies, seventh year. "Don't do that to me, Sirius. You know how it ends."

Sirius smiled, just a little, a quirk to the corners of his lips. "Well, Anna. She's a bit stupid, really."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Well, Vronsky. Vronsky? Do you think he was really that good in bed? That she would give up everything for him?"

Remus, who had more experience with dark, handsome and impulsive men then Sirius had, smiled. "I think that Vronsky isn't all bad. And that there's more to it than just sex."

"But there is that."

"There is that," Remus conceded.

They sat still for a moment, Remus absently picking at a loose thread at his cuff, the room suddenly at least fifteen degrees warmer. Finally he ventured, "We're not talking about Anna and Vronsky any more, are we?"

"I wasn't," Sirius said.

Remus didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything at all. He heard, felt, Sirius draw in a breath next to him.

Sirius got as far as, "Remus, look, I . . ." before Remus cut him off, kissing him hard on the mouth.

For a second, it was like Sirius was so surprised that he didn't know what to do; Remus' hands were already on his back, his arms wrapped around Sirius' waist as if on their own accord. Then Sirius started kissing him back and Remus knew, he knew . . .

Sirius broke the kiss, breathing heavily now. The book had fallen out of his hands onto the floor. He started to speak, to ask permission, but Remus would have none of it. Remus leaned in again and kissed Sirius, sliding his tongue over Sirius' bottom lip, and Sirius opened his mouth to Remus' tongue. Remus sucked Sirius' tongue lightly, and the only sound Sirius could manage then was a groan.

Remus knew this wasn't going to last long, for either of them. He had gone too long without touch, Sirius even longer, and they were both too desperate with longing, with reconciliation, to make this a lengthy event.

But still, Remus wanted as much as he could get for as long as he could get it, and he fisted his hands into Sirius' shorter hair, now almost the same length as it was when they were sixteen. Sirius moved his mouth from Remus' own to his neck, and gently sucked on Remus' pulse point for what seemed like hours, until Remus wiggled a little on the trunk and made an upward motion with his arms, as if to lift Sirius up onto the bed.

Sirius took the point, stood up, mouth still on Remus’ throat, and brought Remus with him. Their mouths came together again as they maneuvered onto the bed. Remus fell backwards with Sirius on top of him. A quick scramble, an interlocking of legs, and Remus had scooted back until his head hit a pillow, one of Sirius' legs between both of his own, and Sirius was kissing down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt with agonizing slowness. Remus pushed on Sirius' hands, as if to move them so he could unbutton himself, but Sirius refused to be put off, so Remus laid back and waited for him to finish, squirming a bit as Sirius' mouth reached the muscles of his stomach. When Sirius was done, he moved his arms and lifted up a bit, shrugging out of his shirt. As he did so, he caught sight of Sirius, leaning on his elbows, hair mussed and falling in his eyes, which were bright, so bright . . . When Sirius saw Remus looking at him, he slid back up the bed and kissed Remus on the mouth again, and Remus wondered at the look in Sirius' eyes as he lifted Sirius' shirt up over his head.

And then it was skin against skin, and Remus knew for sure that he wouldn't, couldn't, last much longer. He started to tug at the waist of Sirius' jeans, and brought his knee up, using it to rub Sirius' erection through his pants. Sirius leaned his head down and growled a bit and oh, god.

Put off his quest to take Sirius' jeans off for a moment, Remus remembered his goal with renewed enthusiasm, and managed to get fumbling fingers around the button on Sirius' fly, and then to ghost along the fly, pulling the zip down. Sirius stilled above him and Remus didn't know what to make of that, so he whispered, voice hoarse, "Please. Touch you. Sirius. Please."

Sirius nodded and rolled to the side, onto his back, lifting his hips so he could slide off his pants, taking his shorts with them. And then it was just Sirius, and that, that, Remus knew, remembered, and he rolled onto his side, his hand reached out, shaking a little, to touch, and he heard Sirius' breath hiss out through his teeth.

Remus knew that was a good sign, so he took Sirius' cock in his hand, and wrapped his hand around it, holding on with just enough pressure to make Sirius moan in agreement. Remus smiled and kissed Sirius; Sirius' mouth was on his again, hot, lips slightly chapped, tongue asking without speaking.

Remus continued to pump gently for a while, until Sirius started to squirm and pant next to him, beneath him. Remus knew Sirius was close, knew that he couldn't wait much longer if he wanted Sirius inside him in some way when he came, so he bent down to take Sirius in his mouth. At the first brush of Remus' lips against him, Sirius became feverishly hot to the touch; Remus could feel Sirius' skin burning his hand as it rested against Sirius' stomach. His own erection now pushing painfully against his trousers, Remus furrowed his brow, licked and sucked, and when Sirius did come, it was down Remus' throat, and Remus swallowed quickly, almost gratefully. When he was done, Remus laid his head down on Sirius' stomach, his cheek cool against the hot skin, and Sirius' hand came down to stroke Remus' hair gently.

They laid there for a minute, until Sirius said, "Moony?" and Remus lifted his head, and brought his body back up the bed. He kissed Sirius quickly, and put his arm around the other man. Sirius leaned into Remus' embrace, but used his free hand to come down and cup Remus through his trousers. Remus was already impossibly hard and he groaned, arching upwards into the contact. He felt suddenly wanton at Sirius' touch.

"Moony?" Sirius questioned again. Then, "Remus. Please." Remus knew what that meant, knew what Sirius wanted, what he wanted, and he sat up quickly, undid the fly on his trousers and peeled them off, dropping the pants over the side of the bed, onto the floor. When Sirius saw him, he reached out to touch Remus, but Remus rolled Sirius back onto his back with a palm to the center of his chest. Not that he didn't want Sirius to touch him, to touch him; his eyes closed briefly at the thought. But Remus knew that if Sirius did, this would all be over, and that was not how he wanted it to end, so instead he straddled Sirius' legs and muttered a lubrication spell.

Sirius spread his legs and nodded and then Remus didn't think any more. All there was was heat and friction and Sirius, Sirius, and Remus was right, it didn't last long, not nearly long enough, but it was so good, and all there was, more than he ever dreamt he would have again, and Remus kept his eyes open as he came, watching Sirius' face.

_________________

 

Later, Remus woke up in an empty bed, his stomach growling from lack of supper, so he crept downstairs, clad in sleep pants and a loose t-shirt.

Sirius was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of tea in his hands and reading the very last pages of Anna Karenina. He looked up when Remus entered the kitchen, and smiled.

"Supper's warm in the oven, if you want it," Sirius said softly, but warmly, closing the book and putting it to the side.

"I do want it," Remus answered, kissing Sirius quickly as he passed by on his way to the stove. He fished the dish out of the oven and tapped his wand against the kettle, reheating the water to an instant boil. Sirius had already left out a new teabag and a mug. Remus poured the water into the mug and watched the bag rise to the surface before he took both mug and dish and went to the table, sitting next to Sirius. He ate in companionable silence with Sirius before he spoke again.

"There's a new set of books on Defense out next month; all the reviews have been good. Thought Harry might like it for Christmas," Remus said conversationally.

Sirius nodded and made a slight humming noise. "Sounds good." He paused, just slightly. "From both of us, yeah?" he asked, looking at Remus.

Remus smiled. "Yeah. From Moony and Padfoot."


End file.
